


He don't feel me

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [81]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: HYDRA Husbands, Healing, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Introspection, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 21:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: He can't help compare his present with his past.





	He don't feel me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winter_angst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/gifts).

> Sorry I wasn't able to write you something grand, and this isn't actually a replacement of that..I just think of you when I look it over and feel like you'd appreciate it. Also you're always open to me trying some new format of writing and I thank you for that. :3 Happy (belated) Birthday, I'm so happy you exist. 💙💙💙

Brock met Mike (or in reality, Mike scoped Brock out because of course he did, as everything in his life, fate set him up to like it always did.) outside a bar he was walking by in late June. He remembers it so well because he’d just graduated high school and he was heading down to the pawn shop on Smithe to see if there was anything worth picking out as a birthday gift to his cousin. He usually hated the guy but he wanted to keep his options open for the summer and Marco had a lot of connections for shit.

Mike dressed in expensive looking clothes and parked at the curb was his 1968 Shelby Mustang GT350, it was such a perfect cherry red that Brock was a little thrown off the moment he began chatting to him about it. He had seemed really handsome to him back then, grinning and sidling them up against the side of his parked car to talk, laughing with him, listening to him when he was actually talking like he was engaged and interested, like he was worth a damn unlike his father, who was too busy getting tanked to notice he even existed.

He asked for his number, and Brock gave it to him, and a couple of days later he was back at the same dive bar, where he was let in because Mike knew the bouncer and they took a table in the back. He’d been given as many shots of whiskey as he could handle because no one looked at him like a burden in there. Later on he went down on Mike in the back of his Mustang and he tasted bitter, metallic and sharp, there was even an acrid aftertaste to it and he remembered he willed himself not to gag. He liked the thrill though, of an older man, wanting him and so he didn’t complain.  


Jack doesn’t taste like something had just died. He doesn’t taste like anything bad, he tastes clean and a little strong but it doesn’t overpower, he smells of the forest and of the pine and Brock finds he likes that combination altogether. Sometimes he even tastes a little sweet and it’s something he tends to daydream about when he has a moment alone in his head.

_ Was your first time like this? _ Jack asked him once while they were recovering in bed together after a long night, skin glowing but slick and a little sticky. Jack was lazily cruising through the five CD’s loaded in his stereo system for the right music as he always tended to do when they were alone, the window was open and the rain outside made everything smell new and different. Mostly though, there was the scent of Jack and of the way he smelled woodsy but a little neutral and always had a trace of mild soap he uses that mostly reminds Brock of some kind of likeness to baby powder; it’s harmless and soft, it makes him connect it with Jack on a different wavelength.  


_ Why? _ Was what he threw back and showed him his back as he blindly searched in the dark for his pants on the floor and retrieved his breath mint tin that had his pot. He jumped a little when Jack grabbed at his ass for it and then laughed when Brock smacked him in the stomach in retaliation. He should’ve gotten his dick just for good measure.

_ Sometimes it’s good to get to know the person you’re fucking around with. _ Jack tells him, he’s sure he’s rolling his eyes at him as Brock lights a joint and he doesn’t say it but knows he wants to make things deeper between them. It’s not that he disagrees with the idea, it’s just something he doesn’t want to talk about. Jack tells him he’s seen the way he looks at some people, he must have had some level of fun. Brock knows Jack’s deflecting his own past transgressions away from the conversation for some weird reason. Jack keeps mostly to himself, he’s probably only been serious with one other person and then kind of just left sex alone in the corner before they met.

Brock laid back out on Jack’s bed, languidly went through puffs of his joint and thought about telling him how sometimes he would sneak Mike into his bedroom late at night, usually after midnight when his father was passed out in his armchair in front of the TV. That he’d never been invited to his place so it was usually there or somewhere out with the car. They would lock themselves in his room and he’d let him go through his things, ask him stupid little questions about this or that to keep him strung along and then they’d fuck for hours because he was so fucking stupid and naive. Brock was always under the impression he was old enough to figure shit all out on his own.

He was a virgin before Mike came along, sometimes he wished he’d met Jack earlier so that he could have taken it instead.

_ Nothin’ to write home about. It was shitty.  _ He told him instead. _   
_

_ First times aren’t anything special. _ Jack tells him, he sounds like he means it too, which he probably does. Brock passes him the joint, feels Jack lean close to accept it, but not before he presses a kiss to his bare shoulder. It’s a little overwhelming.

_ Fuckin’ sap. _ Brock shoots his way. I love you, is what he really means, even if he’s not ready to let that go past his lips anytime soon.  


_ Our first time was good. _ He means special, doesn’t say it. Jack gets it anyway, he can’t see what his face is doing but when Jack turns in so he’s pressed to his side there’s soon a kiss into his hair.

Brock’s never wanted to feel secure around someone, he’s wanted to feel wanted, appreciated, but never secure. He’s always thought that’s what he had to give to himself, didn’t want to depend on someone else to offer that to him.

Mike’s never made him feel secure. He would play on Brock’s uncontrollable emotions, on his frustrations and his fears; he would egg him on, taunt him and emotionally manipulate him into things like Brock was fully in control of the game. After they’d fuck, he’d get out of bed almost immediately, pull on his clothes and tell him when to meet up with him later. He’d pet at his hair like he was some kind of mutt as he was leaving and Brock would confuse that look of arrogance across his face for a look of happiness.

Jack doesn't look arrogant, on second thought, he does but mostly to himself like when he gets the right shot or shit goes his way in a perfect outcome on the field. Mostly he’s stoic, in a comfortable way where he looks like he thinks of murder all day but could just be planning out his next chance parked on his armchair being an old person while sucking on a cold beer. Most of his other emotions are masked and hidden from general sight, and it tends to only translate when they’re together, and at times it gets overwhelming for Brock to see so much of it, like he’s the one responsible for keeping it that way and if he fails, it’s more than the two of them he’s disappointing.  


Jack stays home more than he goes out, prefers the company of a good read than some loud bar unless Brock manages to drag him out for a night, then he goes and gripes about it only a little. There’s times when he doesn’t mind Jack being home bound, when Brock’s thoughts are too loud and he’d rather accept that they’re staying in and not say things. Sometimes he just wants to put his feet up, order some take out and have Jack next to him while the television drones on about something in the background or Jack’s actually tolerant of one of the shows Brock likes to watch but he hates. It’s like Jack needs to recharge before dealing with the outside world again and he guesses that he kind of gets that. They’ve never done things in the back of Jack’s car either. He’s wanted to from time to time but they always end up on a couch, against a wall or in bed. Apparently Rollins has scruples and maybe at some point Brock can change that one little thing and he can replace another memory he wants nothing more than to let go.

When they had more steady sex than just casual, that’s when he started getting used to being called _sweetheart_, or really listening to all the praise Jack heaps atop of him. There was a time where it took him a bit of mental rewiring before accepting that words like, _hungry for it_, _bitch_ and _fucking whore_, didn’t mean he had to pretend to like it. That even Jack’s soft murmur of _Rums_ when he’s barely awake and his brain is still offline as he reaches for him, is more welcoming than any of that. Brock’s heart beats hard and fast when Jack’s tone comes out scared, it does just as much as when he lets himself soften in front of the team and he says _Brock_ or _Rumlow _on the field with a kind of heavy urgency despite being in arms length. And then there’s those very few, rare times, that he can count on his fingers alone, where Jack calls him _baby_. He hated it, vilified it and cast it out of his own vocabulary, it had produced two different outcomes and meanings from two different people. When Jack actually happens to say it, it’s a surprise to hear and Brock remembers when he was very young and his mother used to call him that before she died. He tells himself he should let Jack in on that one day, that if she was still alive, she would have liked him; that she would have probably sighed in relief while disguising it as something else and been glad Jack was his new orbit. The pair of them together would also have made his life a torturous ordeal, and Jack would have had many other new ways to fuck with him than he already did.

It’s thoughts like that that stray in Brock’s mind when he’s just laying around doing nothing, when he’s having a quiet moment in Jack’s bed and lets all the voices start up their chatter again as he basks in the afterglow. He doesn’t mind though, it’s better than having doubts that came up when he was young and impressionable, when the red flags screamed in his face and he was much too stubborn to notice them.  


No matter what, he still hasn’t stopped thinking about Mike, but it’s fine when what he really does is compare him to how much Jack is better for him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Lyric title is from Top Coat by Poliça


End file.
